


Heat

by DangerDarling



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Disabled Character, Eventual Smut, Homelessness, M/M, Non-Traditional Sugar Daddy Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Dogs, Slow Burn, Swearing, Temperature Play, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:40:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerDarling/pseuds/DangerDarling
Summary: Caught robbing a house, Gethen is given the chance opportunity to improve the quality of life for both him and his disabled sister, Sophie. However, in order to get the wealth and stability Fintan offers, Gethen has to give the one thing he can; his body. Fintan is kind, and gentle, and caught within the fires of passion, Gethen starts to warm up to the man he is to serve.Or, a fic I’m writing for fun loosely based on the prompt of Fintan being Gethen’s sugar daddy, tags will be updated as the story progresses, and content warnings will be before each chapter!
Relationships: Fintan Pyren/Gethen Ondsinn, Sophie Foster & Gethen Ondsinn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to get money to care for his disabled sister, Gethen breaks into a fancy house, but ends up caught between a rock and a hard place. But perhaps luck may be looking out for him, as the homeowner is kinder than he first seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for chapter 1: anxiety, homelessness, mentions of past childhood trauma, crappy parents, ableism, talk of crime + police, mild suggestive language and a lot of swearing

The house was quiet, and he double-checked the driveway, seeing no vehicle other than a whole ass boat with a tarp over it. A _boat._ He knew he was in the upper-middle to the upper-class section of the neighborhood. Back to his observation, no vehicles meant no one was home, and the house was safe for robbing. He peered through a window, crouching low so only his eyes and curly blond hair was visible from inside, seeing nice furniture with deep burgundies, browns, and slivers of bright oranges decorating the room. It appeared to be a lounge-like area that was close to the front door, but there was no TV or table or even a cozy couch, so it definitely wasn’t a living room. The person who lived here also clearly had a sense of style and taste, as well as a key aesthetic. He wasn’t sure what aesthetic it was, but there definitely seemed to be one. 

He circumnavigated the building and accompanying backyard fence, returning to the original window and looking through. He was at a different angle this time, spotting a cozy fireplace in the corner that he hadn’t seen before. It was simple and small, maybe big enough for roasting a few marshmallows or a small pan of scrambled eggs. Definitely not big enough for a full meal, so he’d have to look elsewhere. He paused. He wasn’t searching for places to cook a halfway decent meal at, he was searching for places to steal from. Focus, dude!

As he left to pull another loop around the building, something nagged at him. He stopped at another window, this one not into a lounge but a properly furnished living room. And there was another fireplace. For some reason. This was, however, spanned the length of half the wall, and was lit, burning ferociously. It seemed the one that Santa myth would like to crawl through, as it was spacious enough that any reasonably sized man could fit. But that brought him back to the question, why in tarnation was there more than one fireplace? Surely one was enough, right?

  
  
Gethen mentally slapped himself _again_ . Focus! He briefly remembered what, or more specifically _who_ , he was fighting for, and resolution steeled his soul. He circled the house, this time searching for an entry point, a resurgence of purpose in his every step, before stopping at a window to the kitchen. The window was halfway open to let in outside air and sun in, although there was a screen netting to stop bugs. There were a few potted plants on the sill, but he knew he could easily step over them. Gethen sighed then carefully removed the wire screen with nimble fingers, popping it out and discarding it on the grass outside. He glanced both ways, pulled up the window so he had room, then slipped inside the house.

Stumbling onto cool linoleum, Gethen quickly straightened himself and turned to quietly shut the window, wincing as it locked itself once fully shut. Shit, guess he’d have to find a different way out, there seemed to be a key needed to escape. He waited a long moment so his racing heart could calm, before moving to explore the home, keeping a keen eye out for valuables he could steal. He left the kitchen into the living room, the one with the massive fireplace and overly expensive furniture. But something was off. There was a new shape, seated on a chair facing the fire. Gethen held his breath, fuck fuck fuck the owner was _home_ . But there were no cars in the driveway! Fuck, wait, he could have parked in the garage, fuck, Gethen was such an idiot. He had to leave this room and maybe the house, _now_ , he didn’t trust himself enough to be quiet and inconspicuous with the homeowner _right there_.

Gethen left the living room back into the kitchen, saw another doorway leading elsewhere, and took the chance. He darted down the hall, trying his best to be silent, spotting a spiral staircase leading up. He stole a glance behind him when he heard a subtle shuffling of papers, then made his way upstairs, and down the hall. He stopped at the door at the very end, wondering if he should go hide there or elsewhere, before making the choice and opening the door. Ah yes. The master bedroom. Gethen felt embarrassed that he was invading someone’s bed chambers when the sudden sound of footsteps coming up the stairs startled him.

Shutting the door as slowly as could be, Gethen went to hide. He went into the bathroom, then into a large walk-in closet the homeowner had. Rows and rows of assorted suits and shirts and pants made the closet an organized mess, and Gethen briefly wondered about the few dresses and skirts he saw hung up on the right side. Did the homeowner have a wife, or maybe a thing for dresses? Gethen was interrupted as the bedroom door creaked open, startled again, instantly shoving into the clothes of the closet and hiding within them, trying to be as still as could be, damn he really goofed this up, huh. He was near hyperventilating now, fuck, he was going to be caught. He’d be arrested and would go to jail, and Sophie would be all on her own without him-

The shower started. Gethen froze. He heard a man humming to himself, and the telltale sounds of clothes hitting the floor. Gethen blushed bright red. Fuck, he was trapped in the closet as the homeowner bathed, and from where he was smothered in the many layers of vertical clothes, the room started to feel really hot. The man must have been boiling the shower at a billion degrees, making the air humid and Gethen suffer even worse, becoming embarrassingly hot and clammy. 

He could hardly hear himself over the sound of the water, so Gethen risked his hiding place, crawling out of the clothes. He stayed on his hands and knees for a long moment, gasping for breath in the increasingly hot and humid atmosphere, before sitting up and wiping his face with his sleeve, trying in vain to cool down. How the hell could the homeowner withstand such an awful temperature? Maybe he was into the heat, seeing as his house held at least two separate fireplaces and Gethen wouldn’t be surprised if he had more. It honest to god felt like one of those steam rooms at the gym, just without the nice smells and gross strangers. 

The shower water stopped, wow that was a quick bath, and the homeowner stepped out. Gethen recoiled near-instantly, shuffling to hide in the clothes once more. He wasn’t as inconspicuous as he thought, as he heard a soft chuckle. “Oh, I heard that, little thief. I had a suspicion an intruder may be amok in my home, but to hide in the closet while I bathe? Well, little thief, I may be adding _pervert_ to your criminal charges.” His voice was sharp yet smooth, eloquent yet dangerous.   
  
  
Gethen was frozen to the spot, heart racing, ears ringing. No, no, he couldn’t be caught. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t at _all_ how this was supposed to go. He didn’t answer, his hands clasped over his mouth, half-buried in the clothes, shaking from head to toe. He dragged his legs up in front of him, a small whimper escaping him. 

The homeowner laughed again, and he heard footsteps draw closer. He saw his legs and the bottom edges of his towel but didn’t lift his head to look at his face. “Oh, dear thief, upset you got caught?” He purred, voice as smooth as honey, “do not worry, prison will feed and house you well, and you will be treated kindly I assume.” The man knelt in front of him, and Gethen jerked his face away to hide into his knees, not wanting to see his face. 

“I can’t,” Gethen whispered, barely attune to the man reaching a hand out and running it over his arm, across the torn and dirty fabric of his favorite jacket. The hand trailed back to Gethen’s shoulder when he had the incisiveness to jerk away clumsily. “I can’t go to jail.” He insisted, still hushed. 

The homeowner hummed. “And why can you not? _Surely_ you must know your life of crime would come to an end, and it just so happens you would find your scheming end in my very house.” He said, and Gethen knew without looking at his face that he was grinning as he spoke. “Being a criminal isn’t flattering, dearest.”

Ignoring the pet name, Gethen took a deep shuddering breath, then began, “I have a sister. I- she can’t take care of herself on her own, I need to be there to provide for her.” Gethen stammered, finally uncurling himself and staring directly into the man’s face, gaze unfocused. “And I didn’t choose crime, I’ve been on the streets since I was 11, I’ve had no choice.” He said, a lot more bitterly than he intended.

Gethen’s eyes slowly refocused, and he now saw that the man was young and handsome, his expression momentarily taken aback from Gethen’s statement. His long near white-blond hair clung to his shoulders and his skin still looked red from his shower, the heat slowly dissipating into room temperature. His eyes held Gethen’s momentarily, the man’s showing a brilliant crystalline blue. “Since you were 11.. how old was your sister then?” The man asked gently, voice a lot kinder than before. 

“Seven.” He said quietly, seeing no reason to lie. “Our parents were upset at her medical bills, and they never really wanted us anyway, so they tossed us out on the streets.” Gethen added, and at seeing his next question forming on his lips, “I’m 19, now. She’s 15.”

The homeowner's mouth clamped shut, thin blond eyebrows furrowed. “Why does your sister have medical bills? Is she diabetic?” He asked calmly, and Gethen knew he must be somewhat curious about their story.

“No no,” he began, catching that last part about diabetes, “she wouldn’t have survived this long without insulin. She’s epileptic. She has a service dog to warn her, but he’s getting old, especially since she’s had him since she was 3. She used to take medicines to suppress the seizures, but nowadays she just has to lay down and tough it out and hope she doesn’t hurt anything important.” 

The man watched him carefully, eyes burning into him. “What are you and your sister’s names?” Voice so soft, silky smooth, like a song. 

“My sister is Sophie Foster, and I’m Gethen Foster. Before you ask, no, I do not have any papers or birth certificates for either of us, our loving parents burned those when they cast us out of their lives.” Gethen said, knowing the man was pitying him and feeling bad because of it. He didn’t need any pity, it was Sophie who was suffering, not him. He had a chance at a proper life in his first 11 years.

  
  
“Alright.” The man said slowly, getting to his feet. Gethen hesitated then took his offered hands and got to his feet. Now that they were standing, the man was a good four inches taller. He was also only wearing a towel around his waist, exposing his full chest, and Gethen blushed, averting his eyes back to his face. The man continued, “you have a choice now, Gethen. I will unlock the door, and you can leave my house freely, and I won’t alert any authorities on your break-in. Or you can go wash up, get dressed in clean clothes from my closet, then retrieve your sister and your belongings. I am offering you a chance to stay here in my home, you will be able to refuse later if you decide my terms are too much.” 

Gethen frowned, listening to his spiel, wavering a bit from nerves, squeezing his hands. “Uh. Two things, one, what are the terms you speak of, and uh, can I get your name?” He expected the man to first tell his name when Gethen told him his, but the man may have been preoccupied with thought. 

“My name is Fintan Pyren,” the man said carefully, and wow that was an interesting name, “and the terms you are asking for will be written and given to you shortly once you and your sister are comfortable. Remember, you will be able to refuse or negotiate a different price.”

Gethen considered this, realizing he was still holding onto his hands for support and let go, shoving his hands into the roughed up pockets of his jacket. “I think I'm good with the second option,” Gethen admitted, relaxing and rolling on the balls of his feet, thinking this was the best choice as he did not want such an out of the blue opportunity for his sister's wellbeing to go to waste, this could be her one chance for a better life. “Can you pick out an outfit for me to put on when I’m done?” 

Fintan nodded, smiling, “of course, little thief. You made the right choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I missed a content warning/tag, do tell me! All comments are appreciated, have a great day!


End file.
